Thursday, October 23, 2014

Barbarians and Elves Part 3

Last night I had such a great hot chocolate outing with my friend. She let me sketch her and out came this Elven madwoman.

This is starting to be a really fun series! Hello inspiration.

Part 3

When he came in, he blinked thick
lashes that framed large eyes, pretty eyes that seemed rational and considerate
as he glanced around the room. He wasn’t as broad shouldered as most, a
diplomat instead of a warrior.

I hesitated in my position atop
the steps. Barbarians were bred to be alike in their brutality, their
simpleness, except for the very elite, a few of which I'd met when I’d served
my term. I swallowed and lifted my chin slightly. I started down the steps,
lifting my skirt as I walked, dignity forced into each step.

It was three steps from the bottom
where he waited as still as the statue of Callus when I looked up, and caught
his gaze directly, or as directly as I could with my head swathed in clouds of
net. His eyes caught and held me as surely as if he'd used a small magic on me.
I stumbled as my shoe caught on the hem of my dead aunt's dress. Falling
forwards, I reached up and caught him around the neck, while his hands circled
my waist, arresting my fall.

He smelled of Cinamarron. Time
stopped as I stared at him, into those eyes that didn't belong to a Barbarian.

***

We stood in the Capital's plaza, voicing
the same argument we always came to. The sun shone on unwashed bodies filling
the air with a raw flavor I'd taken time to adapt to. It added fervor to my
voice.

“Being a slave is ennobling?
Perhaps to nobles, but I don’t hear many slaves arguing your point.” My voice,
passionate, slurred some of the Barrabas consonants.

He smiled at me, showing his even
white teeth, brighter in his tan face. “The slave plays his part in the great
order as does every other creature. We are all creatures with greater or lesser
levels of development, but deep down we’re simple animals. Without society
there is no meaning to the individual.”

“I'd be more convinced of your sincerity if you did not
occupy one of the highest levels of administration.”

He leaned close to me, closer than
he'd ever come before, breaking the unspoken rules of etiquette. I could smell
the Cinamarron on his bronze skin
as he whispered, “Unlike you? Daughter of an Empire? Ambassador of the High
City?”

I turned away, fighting down the
heat that rose to my cheeks that had nothing to do with the harsh sun or our
heated argument. I plucked a plum from the pile of ripe fruit heaped in a cart,
rolling the purple orb in my still pale hands. The seller looked at me smiling a
gapped-tooth smile.

“As you know, we have no slaves.
Each house has its order, but within the order there is choice. I chose
diplomacy over the ranks of the Rasha. My interest in linguistics over small
magics or armaments brought me to my current position.”

My smile matched his as he studied
me until he covered the fruit in my palm with his own larger and darker hand.

“You speak of magic and choice in
the same breath. Your magic, your religion would call your position destiny. Is
relying on fate so much better than depending on state?” His smile widened as
he held up his hand, and slid the plum in my open mouth, cutting off my
response with the warm and sweet fruit. He took my arm and guided me away from
the stall as he threw a coin to the seller.

I didn't think to resist,
not with the taste of ripe plum and the smell of Cinamarron filling my senses.

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About Me

I write novels about things I wish other people would write about so I could read them with the relatively small effort reading takes compared to writing. I love hats. I hate binary systems. I always meant to be a librarian but accidentally became a painter instead. My husband is the only male I've ever met who is more intelligent than I am. I suppose that's why he married me.